


Father's Day Special

by distant_rose



Series: Little Pirates [9]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Cute Kids, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Father's Day, Future Fic, In which Killian does not get the need for holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 22:49:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11240913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/distant_rose/pseuds/distant_rose
Summary: Killian Jones isn’t the world’s biggest fan of Father’s Day, a holiday in which he generally forces himself to eat overcooked hamburgers and hotdogs at his father-in-law’s barbecue cook out. This year, this family has decided to change things up.





	Father's Day Special

**Author's Note:**

> Some time around 5:00pm today, I realized that it was Father’s Day and as someone who really enjoys Dad!Killian, I should probably do something in honor of it. I live in a different country than my father so I was a bit of a shitty daughter this year and while my father has no idea that I write fanfiction, this is kinda dedicated to him because he’s my biggest inspiration and I’m proud to say he’s my main source material for my version of Dad!Killian. Once again, thanks @welpthisishappening for listening to me ramble and letting me spam her with my nonsense despite the fact she was on vacation. All my mistakes are my own because I am trash and have no beta.

The World Without Magic had a lot of strange holidays and traditions; more than Killian could keep track of really. There were celebrations for all sorts of nonsense; days to honor countries that would one day crumble, for love that would not last, for the dead who no longer cared as well as for complete nonsense things like the turning of a new year which somehow involved a chubby baby in a top hat. He didn’t care for it. It was all too disingenuous.

The citizens of Storybrooke loved these celebrations. Every month seemed to have one and the whole town threw itself into these unnecessary holidays wholeheartedly. Every February, pink hearts covered everything. March was green with clovers and questionably colored beer.  July was red, white and blue. October was full of monsters and defaced vegetables. Repetitive and catchy tunes played on the radio all throughout December as everything was covered in garland, red bows and gaudy twinkle lights.

On top of all of these numerous near-meaningless holidays, there was Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. Those were the ones he understood the least and quite frankly he hated them, more specifically Father’s Day. Why did people feel to dedicate days to glorify women and men for fulfilling a role that they were supposed to be fulfilling? It felt insincere praise for fulfilling an obligation and duty that he had voluntarily signed up for. It should be expected, not praised, for one to be a good parent. Therefore more, it always rang false with expectations that Killian didn’t necessarily enjoy, such as Dave’s annual Father’s Day barbecue.

“It’s Father’s Day, we’re supposed to grill things, drink beer and eat barbecue,” Dave had told him once many years back before Henry had gone to college and Harrison was still in diapers.

“And what if you don’t want to do those things?” Killian foolishly asked in reply.

“Play golf or go to a baseball game, I think, but I think most people hold cook-outs since that’s traditional. Why?” Dave had responded, giving him a strange look.

“No reason,” he replied with a heavy sigh as he ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. He wasn’t sure how to tell his best friend and father-in-law that he had no desire to be involved in these ridiculous and frivolous festivities, especially since Killian didn’t particularly enjoy cooking on a grill in the first place.

Killian hated everything about Father’s Day from its hollow meanings to Dave’s tortuous barbecue, but he went along with it mainly because it seemed to make his family happy. In order to keep the peace, he kept his complaints to himself, gritted his teeth and did his best to stomach as many disgusting hotdogs as he could.

On the morning of Killian’s fourteenth official Father’s Day, he debated begging off on the entire production of Dave’s ridiculous cook out under the excuse of the Jolly needing some extreme repairs. However, the more he thought on about it, the more he realized how flimsy it was and that Emma would see through such a lie in an instant. He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling as he contemplated various ways he could get around his annual torture.

Emma, almost sensing her husband’s silent morning brooding, stirred from her slumber. She nuzzled her face farther into the crook of his neck, sighing softly and looking up at him with sleepy green eyes.

“Morning,” she said softly, sleep still heavy in her voice.

He kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering on the skin just below her hairline.

“Morning, love.”

Emma made another soft sigh, closing her eyes and practically pulling herself on top of him in her attempt burrow herself closer to his warmth. Killian chuckled as he watched her, swiping his thumb back and forth over the curve of her shoulder. They had near fifteen years of marriage under their belt and she was still the most goddamn beautiful thing he had ever awaken to.

Just as he thought she was falling back asleep, Emma spoke again.

“Happy Father’s Day…”

He refrained from snorting, not wanting to wreck the softness of the morning mood.

“Thanks,” he replied half-heartedly.

He suddenly felt the urge to move around, nervous energy shifting under his skin impatiently. He shifted and Emma groaned in protest, tightening her grip on him. Normally he would have found her actions endearing but at the moment, he just wanted to get out of bed.

“Sorry, love,” he said apologetically as he pried himself from her grasp. “But daylight is burning and we can’t laze the day away.”

“Why not?” Emma whined, her eyes still screwed shut as she grabbed his pillow and buried her face in it. “You sure you don’t want to cuddle a bit more…possibly get up to more, what do you call it? Enjoyable activities?”

Her voice was playful and teasing. Killian could help but chuckle a bit as he grabbed his sleep pants off the floor and pulled them on. He leaned forward, bracing his hand against the bed as he bent to place another quick kiss against his wife’s ear.

“A tempting offer and one I regret to decline. Perhaps, I’ll take you up on it later, however in order to make up for it, shall I go make you a hot chocolate?” he asked as he pulled away.

“Killian, it’s Father’s Day, I’m supposed to be the one bringing you treats in bed,” Emma responded with a frown, opening her eyes and lifting her head to look at him.

“Father’s Day is a nonsense holiday, Swan, and we both know it. And it would be MY treat to bring you something. So, hot chocolate?” He asked again, arching an eyebrow at her.

“Don’t forget the cinnamon,” she sighed, once more dropping her head amongst the pillows.

“I never do,” he responded with a cluck of his tongue as he picked up a random shirt from his dresser and carelessly pulling it over his head. He had long since learned it was best not to walk around half-naked in his own home, least unsuspecting children and in-laws be wandering about without his notice. He tried not to be bitter about it. It really wasn’t worth the fight.

As Killian headed down the stairs, he paused for a moment when he heard stirrings from the ground floor. He frowned. By his internal clock, it was still quite early; roughly six or seven in the morning, which was far too early for any of their children to be up and about. Perhaps, Henry had driven back from school early. Puzzled, he gingerly began his descent. He tried to stay as quiet as possible just in case he needed to get the jump on an unwanted visitor.

As the kitchen came into view, Killian discovered that there was no interloper in his house, but rather all four of his children were milling about in the kitchen, fulfilling various tasks. Harrison was by the stove, holding his phone in one hand and stirring a large pot with a wooden spoon in the other. Beth was standing not far from him with a large mixing bowl while Wes was located by the counter closest to the fridge, cutting various pieces of fruit. His youngest son Ned was sitting at the dinner table, moving plates and various cutlery around.

“This smells disgusting,” Harrison stated, wrinkling his nose.

“And you haven’t even added the mackerel in. What type of stock cubes did you use?” Henry’s voice came loudly from the phone. It was in that moment that Killian realized that Harrison had his stepson on FaceTime.

“Chicken,” Harrison responded. “And I’m not talking about the stock. It’s the fish. It smells to high heaven. I can’t believe this is Dad’s favorite meal.”

“I don’t think it’s his favorite,” Henry responded, the volume of his voice fluctuating over the phone as he spoke. Killian got the impression that he was in a car. “I think it’s something he just ate a lot in his pirate days. Anyway, it’s the first meal he ever offered to make me as disgusting as it is and while he hates holidays, I’m pretty sure he will appreciate the sentiment of boiled mackerel.”

“Dad doesn’t hate holidays,” Wes remarked as he picked up a grapefruit and began to slice it in two. “He just doesn’t get them. Thinks it’s stupid to celebrate things that are ‘pointless and unnecessary’ as he puts it.”

Killian frowned. He hadn’t realized that his opinions had been caught on by his children as he had tried to keep them to himself in hopes of sparing the feelings of his family. Obviously, he wasn’t as discreet as he thought had been. He debated climbing down the rest of the stairs and making them an apology, but the larger part of him was more curious in what his small crew was planning and had decided to stay put in hopes of gathering more information.

Harrison picked up a cutting board full of evenly cut mackerel and gently slid the pieces into the pot, grimacing as he did so. He then turned his attention back to Henry, propping his phone against the wall.

“Okay, the mackerel is in, what next?” he asked, biting his lip in a very Emma-like fashion.

“Add half a teaspoon of mixed herbs and a pinch of salt. Cover with the lid for seven minutes and then drain the stock water and then, you should be set. It’s not hard. I don’t know why you needed me to help you with this. I mean, I learned from a YouTube video,” Henry replied.

“Because you’re much cooler than a YouTube video and I would rather talk to you then watch a twenty-minute cooking video with no real instruction and elevator music that totally blows,” Harrison replied.

“Glad to be of service then,” Henry laughed.

Beth paused and looked up from her mixing bowl.

“That was oddly specific,” she replied, giving Harrison a strange look.

“I’ve watched one too many cooking videos and they’ve failed me too many times,” Harrison replied, pushing his bangs out of his face. “Remember the time I tried to make that fancy oatmeal french toast for Mom’s birthday? It was nearly as bad as the time that Wes nearly burned down the house down while making eggs.”

Wes stopped his fruit cutting and placed the knife down sharply against the counter and glared at his older brother.

“Okay, seriously, how many times are we going to bring up the egg incident?! It happened years ago. Get over it.”

“As many times as I can considering that we had to re-model the kitchen. Very classic you, by the way. Almost as iconic as the time you hot-wired Grandpa’s car and drove it into a ditch,” Harrison replied nonchalantly.

“Glad to see nothing has changed while I’ve been gone,” Henry remarked. “I can really feel the brotherly love from here, guys.”

“See what I have to put with on daily basis, Henry?” Beth asked, turning her attention to Harrison’s phone and gesturing between her older brothers with her spoon.

Both Harrison and Wes snorted, sharing an amused glance.

“Oh yes, we’re a real trial,” Harrison remarked with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, like Queenie here is an absolute saint. She’s never done anything wrong in her entire life,” Wes stated sarcastically. “It’s not like she’s ever a pain in the ass and knocked anyone over with a sword for absolutely no reason or hogged the television to watch a sport that absolutely no one cares about.”

“Look as fun as it is to watch you guys roast each other, I gotta concentrate on the road, Har. I gotta use my GPS because I can’t remember which exit to take and FaceTime is draining my battery. I should get to Storybrooke around nine-ish if I’m lucky and don’t screw up. See you then?”

“Yeah, see you in a few hours! Bye, Henry.”

“Bye Henry!” Beth and Wes chorused as Henry stopped the call. Once the call was finished, Beth immediately went back to glaring at Wes.

“People care about hockey! That’s why there’s a professional league, asshat!” Beth hissed in response, taking her spoon and jabbing Wes in the chest with it, leaving a gloppy beige smear in the middle of his chest.

“Guys! Language! Neddy is right there!” Harrison hissed, pointing at the four-year old sitting at the kitchen table, playing with the knives and the forks and was absolutely paying his older siblings no mind at all.

Beth and Wes looked rightly guilty at Harrison’s admonishment. Beth dropped the spoon against the counter and immediately went over to the table, smiling apologetically at the child and carding her fingers through Ned’s dark curls.

“Sorry, Monkey. You know that you shouldn’t repeat anything you hear us saying right? Because we say naughty words and that’s bad, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” Ned mumbled, looking up at his older sister with big trusting eyes. “Mommy and Daddy say a lot of bad words too even though they say not to say them. So it’s okay.”

Killian felt a flush of embarrassment at his youngest son’s statement. It was true. Emma, despite her years of motherhood, never seemed to be able to curb the amount of cussing she did from her vocabulary. The fact that his fourteen-year old, thirteen-year old and ten-year old said “ass” and “damn” on a regular basis was a testament to that. Killian didn’t have much room to talk with his constant muttering of “bloody hell” under his breath. He would never forget the day when Ned’s preschool teacher called him and Emma to tell them that their son had been swearing at school and had actually been using the expletives correctly.

“The table is looking good, bud,” Wes commented. “You even got the knives and the forks on the right side. It took Beth forever to get that right.”

“It’s because I’m left-handed,” Beth replied back defensively. “It made sense to me.”

Before anyone could make more clever comments, the timer on Harrison’s phone went off. Carefully, Harrison lifted the lid off the pot and gave a good sniff. He blanched and looked at the pot suspiciously. Wes immediately went to Harrison’s side to inspect the mackerel as well.

“It looks good…still smells like weird fish though,” Wes commented with a frown.

“That’s because it is weird fish,” Harrison remarked.

It was the fish commentary that did Killian in. He strode down the rest of the stairs rather loudly, alerting the children to his present. Ned and Beth’s eyes immediately lit upon seeing him and it wasn’t long before Killian was trapped between his two youngest children; Beth’s arms twisting around his waist like a vice grip while Ned got him around the knees. Harrison and Wes regarded their father anxiously, obviously remembering the last few kitchen mishaps that Killian had caught them in.

“Happy Father’s Day, Dad!” Beth smiled.

“Happy Dad Day!” Ned giggled.

“Thank you.” Killian couldn’t help but smile at them. “What are you pirates up to? Shouldn’t you all still be in bed? I mean, I thought it was written in a contract somewhere that teenagers weren’t supposed to be up before noon.”

“Hilarious,” Wes responded with a roll of his eyes. Harrison immediately jabbed him in the ribs for the back-sass, causing the younger boy to hiss in pain and massage his ribcage.

“We’re making you breakfast because, well, it’s your day and we wanted to do something aside for take credit for some gift that Mom totally bought you without our knowledge or consent,” Harrison replied, looking down at the mackerel in the pot. “However, we’re not sure if we did the mackerel right…”

“Let me have a look,” Killian responded, prying himself away from Beth and Neddy to examine Harrison’s cooking job with the mackerel.

Taking Harrison’s wooden spoon off the counter, Killian looked into the pot and poked a bit at the pieces of fish inside. From the color and the consistency of the meat, it looked rather well cooked if a bit on the well done side fish-wise. The smell wasn’t at all as off-putting as the boys made it out to be. In fact, it smelled rather good.

“It looks well-cooked,” Killian remarked with a smile. “Excellent job, Har.”

Harrison’s ears turned red under the praise and he ducked his head in a poor attempt to hide the heavy blush on his cheeks. Harrison was a good kid, but he never seemed know what to do with compliments. Killian had spent many a night thinking about what he had done wrong that his oldest boy didn’t have enough confidence. Where Wes was brimming with self-assurance, Harrison seemed to struggle. If only there was a way he could balance them out.

“So…how far are we into our cooking endeavors?” Killian asked them, taking in the various set ups around the kitchen.

“Well, the mackerel’s done. We finished the bacon first, extra crispy just the way you like it. We’re keeping it warm in the microwave right now. I think Wes is done with the fruit. We have melon, grapefruit, pineapple and cantaloupe. Since we’re done with the fish and the good burner is free, Beth’s gonna make us some pancakes. So we’re almost done. Shouldn’t be more than ten or fifteen minutes. Pancakes don’t take long.”

“And I set the table,” Ned said, waving a fork in the air.

“And yes, more important than anything, Neddy set the table and when we’re done, he will have the esteemed and important honor of pouring everyone juice,” Harrison chuckled.

Ned grinned, obviously satisfied that his efforts had been properly acknowledged. Killian couldn’t help but chuckle himself. Where Harrison, Wes and Beth seemed to be in a constant proverbial civil war with each other, they were incredibly supportive and positive in regard to Ned. Killian wondered if the age difference at something to do with it.

“If that’s the case, then I should go coax your mother out of bed so we can get started on this feast,” Killian remarked before glancing at Wes. “Mind getting that bloody machine to work and making a hot chocolate for your mother? I did promise her I would get her one.”

“You mean the Keurig machine?” Wes clarified with a lofty arch of his brow, which always made Killian feel awkward to be at the other end of. It was like looking in some demented mirror. “Dad, you’ve been in Storybrooke for like, what, like twenty years? You should know what a Keurig is called.”

“I know what it’s called. I just don’t care. Just make the damn hot chocolate,” Killian replied with a shake of his head as he made a beeline for the stairs.

Emma was still in bed when Killian returned back to their room. She shifted and lifted her head when he came through the door, frowning at the lack of hot beverage in his hand.

“I vaguely recall you offering to bring me hot chocolate. Not like you to follow through there, sailor,” she remarked.

“I got sidetracked, but there’s one waiting for you downstairs. The kids decided to take it upon themselves to make breakfast this morning. They’ve made us quite the feast.”

Emma’s eyes went wide at his words and she immediately sat up, looking at him with more alertness than he thought she was capable of at seven in the morning. Her face was nearly drained of color.

“They’re cooking? Shit! Please tell me there isn’t some sort of kitchen fire happening downstairs! We just fucking remodeled that goddamn kitchen. I swear to god, they think we’re just made of money and that we can afford to replace everything when they blow it up!”

“Relax, Swan, they’re fine. They had Henry guiding them,” Killian replaced, sitting on the bed beside her and picking up her hand to give it a kiss. He caressed her knuckles, hoping the soothing gesture would quell her anxiety.

Emma calmed slightly at his words, but didn’t fully relax until they were both downstairs and she saw for herself that hellfire had not rained down and destroyed their kitchen. Beth was nearly finished flipping pancakes while Ned was climbing onto chairs into to pour juice into the glasses.

“Wow,” Emma breathed. “I’m impressed…and kinda jealous…I didn’t get this kind of hook up on Mother’s Day…”

“That’s because Grandma Snow always insists on going out for breakfast together on Mother’s Day and we’re actually somewhat terrified of her,” Wes stated nonchalantly as he pulled the bacon out of the microwave and placed it onto the table.

“I’ve lost my edge if my kids are more terrified of Snow White than me,” Emma mumbled under her breath as she sat at the table, grabbing her hot chocolate and taking a long sip.

Once Beth had finished making the pancakes, they all sat down at the table; passing around bowls of fruits, plates of bacon and pancakes. It didn’t escape Killian’s notice that he was the only one who touched the mackerel, but he wasn’t offended in the slightest; it meant more for him anyway. All conversation lulled as they began to eat with the exception of Emma who had set aside her meal in order to cut up Ned’s pancakes.

“So…Dad…what do you want to do today?” Harrison asked casually, taking a bite of his pancakes.

Killian frowned, giving his son a puzzled look. He didn’t understand the question. It was Father’s Day and every year they had gone to Dave’s to have a cook out and Killian pretended not to be miserable while flipping burgers.

“The same thing we do every year…the cook out…” Killian replied slowly.

Harrison, Wes and Beth collectively made faces much to Killian’s surprise as if they were as displeased with the idea as he was.

“But you hate the cook out,” Beth responded, looking like she wanted to leap across the table and give him a hug. “You hate it and I know Grandpa David loves it and you’re friends, but that doesn’t mean you have to do it.”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen someone look as depressed as you do while eating three dogs,” Wes added as he picked up a piece of bacon and chewed it thoughtfully.

“They do have a point, Killian,” Emma said with a sympathetic smile. “Sure, it’s Father’s Day and its traditional to do the cook out, but as much as it’s Dad’s day, it’s also your day and you shouldn’t be unhappy.”

“Henry says that we should take the Jolly out, and you know, just tell Grandpa David that we needed to give the old girl repairs,” Wes said, glancing at Harrison out of the corner of his eye. The older boy nodded, confirming the statement.

Killian couldn’t help but chuckle a bit, remembering his thoughts earlier in the morning and how he had thought about making the same damn excuse. They all stared at him with perplexed expressions, probably wondering what the hell he thought was so funny.

“I had very similar thought this morning, but I didn’t think it would be that easy to collaborate such a tale without assistance,” he admitted.

“Well then, that settles it. I will go text my parents and tell them that we’re spending our day on the Jolly and to not expect any Joneses and Mills to be present at the farm today,” Emma stated, bringing a napkin to her lips to wipe away any excess syrup.

“What?” Killian blinked, staring at his wife in disbelief.

“We’re skipping out on the cook out and spending the day on the Jolly because that will make you happy and we have all summer to do barbecue with my parents,” Emma replied patiently.

Killian was stunned, but true to her word, Emma texted her parents and let them know that they wouldn’t be joining them for barbecue later that day. Henry met them later at the docks with a basket full of picnic items and they spent the day sailing on the Maine coastline, eating sandwiches and whale watching. As the day drew to a close, Killian realized that he hadn’t once frowned or forced himself to eat a hot dog all day, and privately came to the conclusion that while he still thought Father’s Day was an excessive sort of holiday, it wasn’t necessarily a bad one.


End file.
